


These Are The Limits

by agent_izhyper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Did I mention angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reveal!fic, transferred from old fanfic account from like two years ago, written post-season 3 so nothing season 4+ is included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/pseuds/agent_izhyper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin’s put his life on the line for Arthur countless times before. But maybe this is one too many… After all, there has to be some limit to what one can sacrifice to save a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Are The Limits

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I decided to transfer this over from my fanficnet account for a couple of reasons – one, I’m feeling oddly nostalgic towards Merlin rn, probably because my shows are all on hiatus and I never actually got around to finishing watching it a couple years ago so I might maybe do that now…
> 
> Two, I was always super proud of this fic. I mean, it’s one of the three chapter fics I’ve ever actually finished, and even though the writing is kind of shoddy due to it being **written ages ago** and I think I used to write funny back then (..i used to write ‘darn’ and ‘crap’ instead of, like, damn and shit. *pokes my young innocent self curiously* what.), it did get me like over a hundred reviews over on FFnet which, uh, I’m still astounded by because I never expect anything that I write to actually get even a little bit popular, it’s weird. *pokes it cautiously*
> 
> ALSO. Yeah, on that account, this is definitely **not my best writing** (yes i am bolding these bits for a reason, which may or may not be so no one judges my current writing on this old thing *sheepish*), especially at the beginning. So bear that in mind, please. I’d like to think I write better than that now. I’d do a fix-up rewrite but I wouldn’t know where to start, lol. So yes. I’m pretty sure the second half is a lot better than the first (which kind of overloaded on angst? I don’t know.) so there’s that at least.
> 
> DON’T LET THAT PUT YOU OFF, THOUGH. *stops criticising my old writing* hope you enjoy the bromance and stuff, anyway ;)

**I.**

 

Arthur was dying.

There was no question to it. He was definitely dying.

And Merlin was almost panicking. If only he'd been conscious before, if he hadn't been shot by the bandits who also got Arthur, he could have done something - slowed the bleeding, prevented infection -  _anything_.

But he'd been knocked out, and that left only Gwaine and Lancelot - the only knights with them on this trip - to tend to both men's wounds. Luckily, Merlin's was almost superficial - the cross-bolt had only scraped his arm, though he'd lost a fair amount of blood - but he'd fallen head-first onto a rock and been knocked unconscious as a result. He had only heard Arthur's cry of pain and a brief flurry of movement and shouting before succumbing to the darkness.

When Merlin came to, a few hours later, the first thing he became aware of was the searing pain at the back of his head. Then he remembered the previous events and bolted upright with a gasp.  _What happened to Arthur?_

"Whoa, Merlin, calm down," a voice next to him said, and then a hand was carefully pushing him back down. But Merlin resisted. He looked around wildly to see Gwaine's concerned face.

"Where's Arthur? What happened to him?" he demanded, still struggling to sit up even though his throbbing head protested. He had a growing sense of foreboding; something telling him that a terrible thing had happened to the prince.

Gwaine rolled his eyes skyward, like 'What am I going to do with this guy?', but decided to just let Merlin sit up. He kept a watchful eye on him, though.

"He... got hit," he finally said shortly, casting an anxious glance backward.

The pit of dread in Merlin's stomach grew at those words and he slowly turned his gaze, almost fearfully, over to where Gwaine had looked.

There was the prince, lying unconscious close to the fire. Lancelot was kneeling by him, using his hunting knife to shred some cloth into strips for the wound on Arthur's abdomen. And the wound... Merlin's insides iced over, looking at it.

The cross-bolt had struck him in the side, just below his right ribs. There was a wrap-around bandage covering the mid-section of his upper body, but the right side of it was heavily staunched in blood. Contrasting that, Arthur's face was stark white, and scrunched up in obvious pain.

It definitely was not a pretty sight.

Lancelot stopped and looked up when he heard Merlin's voice, and his face broke into a relieved - albeit rather strained - grin upon seeing his friend sitting up. "Good to see you up. Make sure he doesn't move too much," he added to Gwaine. "Just in case he's concussed." Lancelot turned back to his task, his face returning to its previous troubled look.

"Yeah, yeah. Hear that, Merlin? No mov- Merlin!" Gwaine cut off loudly, grabbing the younger man's shoulder to keep him down. Merlin glared at him - he'd been just about to get up.

"Like heck I'm staying here!" he reiterated hotly, throwing off the knight's hand and getting unsteadily to his feet. Gwaine sighed heavily and left him to it, knowing it would be a lost cause trying to stop him. Merlin stepped rather haphazardly towards Arthur, ignoring Lancelot's reprimanding glare, and dropped to his knees next to the prince.

He stared down at his wounded friend. His condition looked pretty damn critical. He looked like he'd lost a lot of blood, and his chest was rising and falling terrifyingly slowly. Each breath he took was more ragged than the previous, and his pained and discomfited expression didn't fade.

Merlin needed to do something. He had to.

"How long has he been like this?" he asked Lancelot quietly.

"They attacked us about four hours ago," he replied with a grimace. "He was losing blood very quickly at first, but we managed to slow it down a little. I don't know, but... He's had a fever going on and off for the past hour... It doesn't look good, Merlin."

Merlin didn't reply. He put a hand on Arthur's forehead and almost recoiled at the heat radiating from him. It might have been infected, he thought suddenly, and moved to undress the wound so he could check it.

"What are you...?" Gwaine started to ask from beside him, but a look at Merlin's determined face stopped him.

The warlock drew in a sharp breath upon seeing the definitely infected injury. It was still bleeding slightly, and the skin around it was an unhealthy shade of green and purple, like a bruise gone wrong. His mind swirled with thoughts of what Gaius had told him about treating infections. He pulled back and turned to his friends. "Get my rucksack, I've got some herbs that might help. And some fresh cold water too. It's infected; we need to stop it from spreading."

Gwaine nodded and ran off to the horses to get Merlin's things. Lancelot paused and looked at his friend solemnly. "Can't you do anything to heal him? A spell?"

But Merlin shook his head in frustration. "No, healing spells never work with me. I don't want to waste time."  _He might not have much left_ , was the thought trailing in his head after that sentence, but he didn't need to say it. By the dark look that passed over Lancelot's face, he'd thought of it too.

So Merlin spent the next near-hour working on tending to Arthur's gash while the two knights got some well-earned and much needed rest. He'd forgotten all about his own headache, all other thoughts pushed aside except for one:  _Save Arthur._  It wasn't even about destiny any more, that instinct.  _Destiny_  was about as far from his mind as it could be right now.  _Destiny_  might as well not exist, if Arthur didn't make it. But he  _would_. Merlin would make sure of that. Because Arthur... no matter how much of a prat he was, no matter how absolutely  _blind_  he could be sometimes... was Merlin's friend.  _Is_ his friend. And he wasn't about to let his friend slip away from them - not now, at least; and not for a long time, if he had anything to say about it.

Merlin worked tirelessly. After about two hours, he sat back, tossing aside the empty vial that he had gotten the unconscious prince to drink from. From what he could guess (and he hoped he was right, at least to some extent), the infection hadn't set in too deeply, though it had already done some damage. The fever was his main problem, right after the amount of blood he'd lost. Merlin figured that by morning his fever would break. It  _should_  break. It better.  _Or else_... he didn't know.

He felt his eyes drooping as he sat there, mulling over whether he should have applied some more of the ointment to the wound or not. Eventually, he slipped into a restless sleep, sliding slowly to the ground.

His dreams were disturbed and broken. He couldn't make out all the images. There was blood, and lots of it. A gloomy darkness had taken hold of him; he couldn't move, couldn't  _breathe_. Voices surrounding him... panicked and loud and  _why were they shouting?_ And...  _was that Arthur's voice? But Arthur was dying... wasn't he? But no... there he was... and he was laughing and healthy and calling Merlin's name..._

"Mer...lin?"

Merlin jerked awake. He pushed himself up and shook his head to clear it before looking around for ...

"Arthur?" He stared anxiously at the prince, who was moving fitfully in his sleep. The dressings were redder than before - the wound had started bleeding again. Merlin worriedly felt his forehead and winced; his skin was cold and clammy, and definitely not sweating as he'd hoped he would be. Arthur was murmuring now, looking seriously distressed, and Merlin didn't know what he was dreaming of, but he knew it couldn't have been very pleasant. One thing he did know, though - Arthur was most definitely worse.

And Merlin didn't know what to do. He took a deep breath and went for his last resort, praying to the gods that it would work, before placing a hand over the wound and whispering, " _Purhaele dolgbenn._ " His eyes flashed gold at the use of the spell and his fingers tingled, but to no avail. The wound was as bad as before. He grimaced and tried again; " _Gehalge._ " Still nothing. He stubbornly tried again, louder and more forceful, but it seemed to be a lost cause.

He felt himself slowly starting to panic. What use were his powers if he couldn't even save his friend from certain death? What could heal him, when he was almost useless at healing spells? Arthur was... he was  _dying_. Merlin's breathing hitched for a moment as he stared at the pained prince, as though he could heal him through willpower alone. He couldn't even bring himself to talk to him... not that he'd be able to hear, but still. He couldn't stand the thought that, out of all wounds and places, Arthur might die out here from a normal mortal wound made by bandits. It just seemed so...  _odd_. He thought that, when they died, they'd die fighting. They'd go down  _together_ , not separately, where one had a serious injury and the other was helpless to do anything useful…

But - no. Wait. Merlin sat up suddenly, filled with hope at his inspiration. He  _could_  save Arthur. He had the power to Mirror Life and Death, didn't he? He could...  _He could save him_. He would save him.

And so Merlin held his hands over Arthur's body and let the words spill out of him, almost subconsciously, letting the magic do its work. A gold sheen seemed to hover over the prince, brighter around the wounds, and though Merlin could feel his own energy draining, he felt a slimmer of joy.  _He's going to live_ , was his final conscious thought as the last of his energy left him and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. The prince's breathing immediately grew steadier, while Merlin's became uneasy. He'd done his job.

* * *

**II.**

Arthur was feeling the oddest sense of déjà vu when he woke up from the sunlight hitting his closed eyelids. He wanted to yell at Merlin to close the curtains and let him get some more sleep, but he was feeling so  _tired_. He also had a weird feeling that he should be in severe pain right now, which was worrying. The last time he felt like that, he'd been bitten by the Questing Beast and was on the brink of death. He'd had Gaius to thank for that, that time. But Gaius wasn't here now. Arthur's mind spun a bit with the effort of trying to remember what had happened...

He recalled the splitting pain in his side as something pierced through him... the nauseous feeling, the confusion and panic... a mass of black and red and a disarray of muffled voices all around him... then he'd been overcome by the darkness, feeling himself sink away into an endless hole, attacked by random bursts of white-hot pain coursing through his entire being...

But it had stopped. Arthur was sure of that. Sometime in the middle of the encompassing heat and agony, it had just... stopped. Gone. Disappeared. And he couldn't fathom why... unless Merlin had some tonic or...

Merlin!

He'd been hurt too, hadn't he? Arthur was sure he heard the younger man cry out before he fell-  _Bandits_! That's what it was. They had been attacked by bandits, and he and Merlin had been shot; he hoped Gwaine and Lancelot hadn't as well. But that didn't explain how or why his pain had disappeared.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking note of the trees blocking the sky from clear view and the soft bedroll he was lying on. He sat up cautiously and looked down at his bare stomach, getting a brief phantom feeling of pain rippling through his side. But there was nothing there. No wound, no scar... why was he covered in blood, then? And the dressings - the clearly bloody dressings - on the floor beside him; if they weren't his, then whose were they?

Arthur looked around him. Gwaine and Lancelot were both asleep, opposite him on the other side of the cold remains of a fire. His gaze swivelled around the clearing, almost frantically, for any sign of...

" _Merlin?_!"

_What the hell happened to him?_  Merlin was sprawled on the ground, even paler than usual and looking all but dead. But that wasn't what had made the prince cry out. No; it was the clear-as-day blood staining Merlin's shirt, mostly on his right side; so much blood he wondered how it hadn't drowned him in it. And there was one thing that baffled Arthur almost more than how much all the  _blood_  coming from  _Merlin_  scared him - because Merlin shouldn't look like that; he wasn't supposed to be seen covered in blood; he wasn't supposed to look like he was...  _dying_. But Arthur was extremely perplexed. Because that wound... it was in the exact place that he could have sworn his  _own_  injury was, but... that wasn't possible...

"What happened to him?"

The sudden cry made Arthur start and he looked up, realising that his shout before must have woken the knights up. Gwaine dropped to the ground on Merlin's other side and gaped at the wound in shock, before turning to Arthur almost accusingly.

"How should I know?" Arthur yelled defensively. "I just woke up and... saw him like that! Didn't he get shot?"

"He - he did, but not there!" said Lancelot forcibly. He suddenly turned his frenzied gaze to the more-than-slightly-worried prince and gasped, making Gwaine look up at him too. "Wha- You-"

"How did you-?" Gwaine gestured, dumbstruck, at Arthur's bloodied but scarless abdomen.

Arthur's suspicions deepened. "I  _did_  have an injury there, didn't I? I wasn't just imagining it?" He felt he was in a severe state of shock, and the others' expressions of horror and apprehension weren't helping.

"Yes, but-" Lancelot started but stopped when Gwaine cut in impatiently.

"We can figure it out later - look at him! He's  _drenched_  in blood!" He waved his arms at his unconscious friend in distress. "We need to slow it down or something." He grabbed a random strip of cloth from the ground where Lancelot had left them the previous night and looked around for the water to wash Merlin's wound.

The extent of the servant's injury seemed to finally hit Arthur as he stared in trepidation at it, not hearing what Lancelot said or seeing what they were doing. All he could make out was the unnaturally pallid face of Merlin, the ominously still limbs sprawled out, and the darkened colour of his clothes where the blood had stained them. He looked like  _death_  itself, and that was just wrong -  _so wrong_  - because it was  _Merlin_.

Lancelot's nudge broke him out of his shocked and confused daze, and he took action, helping them get the blood-soaked shirt off Merlin and cleaning the wound. Gwaine searched through Merlin's bag and came up with some herbs and honey, which they applied (only the ones that they knew how to use, of course), before applying a pressure-bandage and wrapping it up. Arthur grabbed the cold water cloth and wiped his feverish brow, concern and worry bubbling up inside of him.

_How did this happen?_ The thought swirled around in his head, not letting him concentrate properly. He scowled and forcibly pushed it aside; he'd worry about that later, when Merlin  _didn't_  look like he was a second away from pushing up daisies.

He was about to get up to rinse out the cloth but he staggered and almost fell. Gwaine steadied him but his head was spinning, and he was forced to sit back down in case he fell again.

"Here, I'll do that," said Gwaine quietly, taking the cloth from him. "You still need to rest; you look like hell."

_Merlin looks worse_. Arthur wanted to argue, to help Merlin somehow, but he felt too dizzy to do anything. He didn't really know  _why_  he was feeling so nauseous, all he knew was that he was pretty useless to do  _any_ thing right now and that infuriated him. Merlin  _needed_  them, damn it! This was no time to have a need for  _rest_.

"Arthur, you can't help anyone if you're two seconds away from blacking out," Gwaine told him, a little more forcefully, when he noticed the defiant expression on the prince's face. Arthur scowled and sat, accepting the water he handed him and drinking a bit, watching as Gwaine and Lancelot tended to Merlin as best as they could.

His mind was a jumbled and confused mess; thoughts jumped from what exactly happened with his own injury, to how maddening it was not to be able to help, to the most dreaded thought of  _what happens if he doesn't make it?_  Arthur froze completely at  _that_  thought, mind going numb at the highly possible but frightfully alarming notion. It was almost startling how much trepidation he felt at that prospect; when had  _Merlin_  become so close to him that the mere possible thought of him  _dying_  scared him so much?

It had happened before – when Merlin had drank that poison that was meant for  _him_ , when he was first assigned as his servant – but that time it was different. That time, he had gone out to get an antidote; there had been  _hope_  that Merlin would live. And back then, he wouldn't ever have even  _thought_  – let alone  _admit_  – that Merlin was anything more than just a servant. An incredibly  _loyal_  one, no doubt; but that was about it. Now, though… Arthur let out a shaky breath, staring on at the younger man's blank pallid face, eyes closed, breathing ragged. In his mind, he saw Merlin's face after he'd collapsed from the poison – his face twisted in pain and his breathing quick and shallow… It was different that time, yes, but the concept of the matter was all the same.  _Merlin was dying_.

Arthur abruptly stood up, ignoring the spinning of his head and the surprised looks from his knights, and trudged to the other side of the clearing. He shoved the unwanted thoughts away angrily, not wanting to think about that anymore, nor to sit and just  _watch_  Merlin suffer like that. Where did that thought even come from, anyway? They weren't  _positive_  he was dying, were they? Sure, he'd lost a lot of blood… and the wound was probably deep… and his breathing was terribly slow… But that didn't mean he  _was going to die_! Arthur cursed himself for even letting that thought take a step into his mind. They didn't even know for sure how bad it was. It might be one of those wounds that look worse than they actually are. Arrow wounds weren't always deep and fatal… He tried to ignore the nagging fact that he didn't even  _know_  how Merlin got that injury, and then there was still the whole  _what happened to my injury?_

He couldn't ignore those two questions any more. Arthur took a few deep, steadying breaths as he leaned against a sturdy tree trunk. He watched the knights deal with the unconscious Merlin; Lancelot carefully removing his shirt to wash away the blood; Gwaine trickling some water into his mouth. They both looked extremely worried, concerned, and Arthur was hit by the epiphany that out of all his knights, these two were the best to have with him right now. Their bond of friendship with Merlin was unbreakable, anyone could see that, and they didn't have to hide it either. They were both willing to do anything to save their friend – Arthur could clearly tell as he watched, reading the scared yet defiant lights in their eyes; scared that Merlin would slip away from them, but defiant that they wouldn't let him.

Arthur felt a brief flash of annoyance and - what  _was_  that?  _Jealousy_? – course through him, immediately followed by disbelief at the strange feelings. Not strange as in he hadn't felt them before – Lord only knows how much time he'd been annoyed (mostly at Merlin) in the past few years - and as for jealousy… well, he wasn't even going to  _go_  there. No; he felt disbelief at himself, incredulous that  _he_  was feeling  _annoyed and jealous_  at something so meagre. Was he seriously getting irritated that Lancelot and Gwaine were such good friends with Merlin?

The prince shook his head as if to dislodge the confusing thoughts. No wonder his head was hurting. Why was he even thinking about these things? He should be  _helping_  them. He knew that. He just felt that if he got too close to Merlin again, if he had to  _sit there_  and watch him looking all… un-Merlin-like… he'd go  _mad_. But even so, he forced himself to walk back and sit with them, though his movements were almost hesitant, eyes careful not to linger too long on the wound or the blood or the pale unmoving face. In the end, he turned to Lancelot, his previous questions finally rising out of him.

"What happened? Did he get shot?" He worked hard to make his voice even and casual-like, but the words sounded forceful to his ears, the fear beneath them not as hidden as he would have liked. But he found himself not caring much.

Lancelot avoided his gaze, a sure sign that he didn't want to say what happened, and focused on wringing out the wet cloth in his hands. Gwaine looked up, glancing quizzingly at the other knight as if to ask whether he was going to answer – or  _if_  he knew the answer. Arthur caught these looks, but didn't know what to make of them. This whole situation was  _so darn confusing_ , and he wanted some  _answers_  right now.

He narrowed his eyes as Lancelot seemed to brace himself, sending a warning glance at Gwaine not to say anything (his attempts at being discrete were thrashed by Arthur's skill at reading faces) at which the rugged knight looked puzzled but shrugged, before addressing Arthur. His eyes stayed on Merlin, though. "You remember we were attacked by bandits, right?" At the prince's nod of confirmation, he continued. "You got attacked first, one of them knocked you out with a hit on the head – that'll be why your head hurts – and was about to finish you off but we fought him off. But then Merlin got shot too- he got shot and-"

Arthur grew more disbelieving and suspicious by the word, and he cut in there, voice forcefully quiet and calm. "'Too'? What do you mean, 'too'? You didn't say anyone else got shot." He pushed on before Lancelot could do anything more than open his mouth to respond. "And that doesn't make any sense. When I woke up, your reactions told me that I'd been shot, and that Merlin didn't  _have_  an injury there." He paused to glare at the knight, who looked at least a little shamed, but not regretful.

Gwaine broke the rather tense atmosphere by putting in, rather unhelpfully, "Lance, mate, you're a terrible liar."

"Thanks, Gwaine," said Lancelot dryly. He glanced back at Arthur's unamused and demanding expression and sighed, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated something.

Arthur continued to glower at him. It was obvious that Lancelot  _knew_  what happened – though Gwaine looked like he didn't – and that infuriated him.  _He needed answers_! He needed to know  _how_  this happened! And he couldn't believe Lancelot had  _lied_  to him; it wasn't a particularly good lie, true, but the fact remained that he was holding back on something and Arthur needed to know what that was  _now_.

"Lancelot," he said firmly, making the young man look at him fully. Arthur was momentarily taken aback by the determination and resolve in his eyes as he glanced fleetingly at Merlin.  _What was that about?_  He went on relentlessly. "A Knight of Camelot is a  _man of his word_.  _Do not_  lie to me. So I'm asking you again,  _what really happened_? And I  _need_  you to answer truthfully." He saw the torn look in Lancelot's eyes and was again puzzled by what could cause such a reaction?  _What_  was going on?

"I  _can't_ ," his knight replied boldly, meeting Arthur's shocked and incensed glare fiercely.

"What do you  _mean_ , 'you can't'?" Arthur repeated through clenched teeth, enunciating his words slowly.

"It's not my place to tell." The reply came instantly, accompanied by an unwavering look of defiance that threw Arthur off completely. He growled and stood up, Lancelot getting to his feet with him, both glaring daggers at each other. Arthur clenched his fists, the brief wish to have his sword with him flashing through his mind, before he disgustedly pushed it away. He turned his face from the knights' gazes, one resolute in his glare, the other just slightly amused and more than a little tense.

"I need an answer, Lancelot," he eventually said, more calmly, though with an edge to his voice. "I  _know_  I had an injury – and  _not_  from some hit on the head. I remember being wounded  _in the same place_  as Merlin's wound is." A silence followed his words. Arthur stared at Lancelot fiercely. Lancelot turned his gaze stubbornly to the ground. Gwaine looked between them uncertainly, before deciding to intervene before things got too ugly and one or both exploded.

"Look, why don't we just sort this out after Merlin… recovers," he suggested, feeling way out of place. His hesitation at the word 'recovers' made Arthur turn his heated glare onto him.

"No, we  _will_  sort this out  _now_. And then when Merlin  _recovers_ , he'll tell us  _his_  side of the story. Because you know what this looks like?" he demanded both of them. Gwaine cocked an eyebrow. Lancelot grimaced and avoided his gaze. Arthur growled again. " _Sorcery_."

* * *

**III.**   


A horrible, tense silence followed the word, where the three knights all stared at one another – or  _glared_ , in Arthur's case. Gwaine glanced from the prince to Lancelot, who looked decidedly resolute for some reason at Arthur's words. The two of them seemed to be having a battle of wills, staring each other down, the air between them seeming to crackle with the intense electricity of their gazes.

Gwaine felt annoyed as he watched them. Couldn't they sort this out later? Okay, so he had to admit, the whole thing with Arthur's and Merlin's wounds was unnatural and something was definitely up, but right now they had a friend to watch over. They could figure out the implications of Arthur's deduction later, couldn't they?

Arthur was the first to break the icy silence. " _Well_ , Lancelot?" he almost snarled, taking a step closer to his knight – though  _that_  seemed to be debatable if the look on Arthur's face was anything to go by. "What do you say to that?"

"What do you want me to say?" Lancelot fired back, eyes flashing defensively.  _What the hell is up with him?_  Gwaine found himself wondering, despite his earlier thoughts.

"I don't  _know_!" Arthur all but yelled, taking another step forward. "All I know is I got shot by some bleeding bandits and when I wake up there's nothing there and Merlin is bloody knocked out and injured with the same wound that I supposedly had! What do you  _think_?"

Judging by the look in Lancelot's eyes, he was probably thinking something that would definitely cause a fight if he said them aloud. So Gwaine intervened, for once acting to prevent a fight rather than encourage it.

"Will you two just leave it?" he exclaimed heatedly, meeting their momentarily surprised looks with his own irate glare. "Merlin is injured and suffering here while you argue – can't you deal with this  _later_?"

"Well, it might be a lot  _easier_  if we knew  _why_ and _how_  he's suffering!" Arthur cried out, throwing his arms out in frustration and shooting Lancelot another dark glower. The usually respectful knight met it with his own cool look.

Gwaine gritted his teeth and turned from them, moving back to his position next to Merlin on the floor. " _Fine_. While you do that, I'll do my bit as  _Merlin's_   _friend_  and actually  _help_   _him_. And if he gets worse or something, that's your fault." Normally, he wouldn't play the guilt-card on his friends. But  _normally_ , Merlin wouldn't be mortally wounded anyway. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all.

The tension in the air diffused instantly to be replaced with Arthur's and Lancelot's guilt, but Gwaine had turned his attention fully to Merlin, noticing that he'd gone even  _paler_  than before, if that was even possible. He frowned in concern, taking note of the thin line of blood seeping through the bandages again, and took hold of the young man's wrist. He froze at how completely cold and bloodless and  _lifeless_  it felt, despite the slow beating of a pulse. He stared down at his unconscious friend and pulled his hand back slowly, unsure what to do. He was vaguely aware of Arthur and Lancelot coming to stand behind him somewhere, but his attention was suddenly caught by a movement.

It was brief – the barest twitch of a hand, but neither of the trio missed it.

"Merlin?" Gwaine murmured, leaning forward subconsciously and staring intently at Merlin's unresponsive face. Gwaine tapped him lightly on the cheek. "C'mon mate…"

And then – a slight mumble from his lips, the barest hint of a response; but it was enough for them.  _Merlin isn't completely lost._

"Give him some water," Lancelot suggested softly, stooping down next to Gwaine, who obliged, carefully trickling some of the liquid into Merlin's slightly open mouth. The fluid trailed in, and Merlin reflexively swallowed. Gwaine and Lancelot shared an almost relieved glance – it was the biggest response they'd had yet.

"He's still with us," Lancelot sighed in relief, smiling slightly.

"'Course he is… he's Merlin," Gwaine grinned at him, feeling some of the tension from before fade a little. Sure, Merlin wasn't exactly in the clear yet, but some response was better than no response at all. "Like he'd ever leave us willingly."

"Got… tha' right…" a weak voice from between them muttered.

All three knights launched closer to Merlin, as he moved his head to the other side, a low groan rising from his throat. His eyelids twitched sporadically and his lips formed some more, silent words which his friends strained to hear.

Then his eyes cracked open.

"Merlin! You're awake!" Gwaine exclaimed gleefully, refraining from clasping a hand to his shoulder or something.

A faint grin played around the corners of Merlin's mouth as his eyes swiveled around them, landing on Arthur and showing his relief that the prince was fine. Arthur was staring at him with an unidentifiable expression on his face, but his eyes clearly showed the alleviation he was feeling at seeing Merlin wake up. He nodded back at Merlin without a word, though, Gwaine noticed, but decided that he was most likely still in conflict.

Merlin tried to lift his head, supposedly to sit up, but gave up with a groan and let it slump back again, shutting his eyes briefly against the pain. "Ouch," he mumbled. Lancelot looked around and pulled Merlin's rucksack towards him, rummaging in it before pulling out a shirt to put under Merlin's head for comfort.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly, eyeing him anxiously.

Merlin let out a breath and clenched his hands into fists but managed to give him a strained humorless grin. "I'm guessing you don't want me to answer that with 'like I've been stabbed'?" he tried, and Gwaine couldn't help but chuckle.

Beside him, Arthur growled a few curses almost incoherently before turning from them and stalking – though it was more like angry trudging – to the trees. They stared after him.

"Well, I guess he's not happy," Gwaine eventually said, raising an eyebrow at Lancelot, who shook his head.

"What's-?" Merlin started to ask but broke off with a cough. He winced horribly as the movement jarred his side and it started to bleed a little more, much to his friends' worry. He swallowed and took a steadying breath, scrunching his eyes shut tight.

"Water?" Lancelot offered and Merlin nodded jerkily. He carefully swallowed some and tried again.

"What's wrong with Arthur?"

Lancelot shot Gwaine an almost imperceptible glance and he understood – no need to get Merlin worried or anything. Although he wouldn't mind getting some answers himself, but now wasn't the time.

"He's just pissed off," he shrugged. "I don't think he's ever thought so hard before. It must be giving him a hell of a headache."

Merlin began laughing but it was cut short by more coughs – violent ones, causing blood to trail out the side of his mouth. Gwaine sat up in panic, feeling thoroughly guilty, and helped Lancelot sit Merlin up slightly, mindful of his wound. Merlin's coughs lessened and Gwaine was alarmed at how pale and sickly he looked then, and the way his eyes drooped and seemed unfocused.

He mumbled one last " _Ow_ " before he slipped back under again. The knights laid him back down and Gwaine got the water cloth and carefully wiped away the blood from his lips. Lancelot's eyebrows furrowed anxiously as he changed the once-again bloodied bandages.

Gwaine sat back with a heavy sigh, feeling more morose than he'd probably ever had in his life. Not only morose, but  _useless_  too. He stared at Merlin's haggardly rising and falling chest and propped his head on a hand, mulling over a few things.

He'd bet any money and ale he could get his hands on that the fates or whoever it was up there planning this had a seriously twisted sense of pleasure. Who would want to see Merlin like this? It wasn't fair. And, yes, he  _knew_  that 'life wasn't fair', but somehow this didn't click with him.

Gwaine had seen many people die in his life. Hell, he'd killed a few of them too. He'd watched beheadings and beatings and bloodied corpses left out to rot. What he'd never done, though, was watched a friend… like this. Well, alright, so he hadn't really had many friends before he'd met Merlin and the knights – random people you got drunk with at a tavern didn't count – so he probably hadn't really had a chance to have a friend suffer. But that didn't change that the fact that it was  _Merlin_ … and, well, that just made it downright  _painful_  to watch.

He didn't think  _anyone_  who knew Merlin could stand this. The guy was overflowing with a benevolence that made him befriend every person he came into contact with – unless they were trying to kill Arthur or take over Camelot, that is. Then he turned into the overtly loyal friend that stood by the prince's side no matter what. When Gwaine first met them, he'd been thrown by the sheer devotion and confidence Merlin had in his prince and master. When he'd tried convincing Gwaine that Arthur wasn't like his father – wasn't like most nobles, for that matter – he had scoffed, fully skeptical of that. But he saw what he meant later on. Arthur had earned his respect and he had seen that Merlin was right. What was it he'd said to him?  _'Maybe this one's worth dying for, eh?'_

The knight's thoughts came to a stand-still. Worth dying for? He hadn't meant that literally! He felt a shiver run up his spine as the ominous foreshadowing of his jesting words hit him. And he realised that, no matter what anyone said or did, Merlin  _would_  sacrifice anything he could to save Arthur's life – to save any of his friends' lives, really.

And even if this time it wasn't even Merlin's doing, if it was just some random, mysterious workings, he had a feeling that Merlin would have chosen something like this anyway. If it meant saving a life.

* * *

Arthur returned from his trudge to God-knows-where a while later when Gwaine and Lancelot were debating whether they should risk moving Merlin or not. He leaned on a tree and watched them with an impassive face and tired eyes.

"If we jostle him too much it might make him bleed again," said Lancelot.

Gwaine shook his head. "Not if we're slow and careful about it. Look, we don't have to move him a lot, just get him on something softer than the ground. D'you know how uncomfortable it is to get knocked out and be left on the floor for hours after?" he argued.

The dark-haired knight sighed and glanced at Merlin. "Alright… We can lay out his bedroll there and move him onto it. Get him closer to the fire." He looked fleetingly over at the dismally blank prince before helping Gwaine move Merlin when the latter had spread out his bedroll. They covered him up, careful to lay him so he wasn't putting any pressure on his right side.

"That's better," Arthur said quietly, giving them a short approving nod. He seemed to come out his dismal and came closer to them. Gwaine wondered what he had been thinking about, though judging by his dull air and slightly drooped shoulders, it wasn't pleasant. He could guess the general gist.

So that was why he spoke up confidently.

"Merlin's a fighter," he claimed, staring at Arthur to get his message across. "I've never known him to give up on anything, so why the  _hell_  should he give up on his own bloody life?"

Arthur shook his head gloomily. "It's a mortal wound, Gwaine... Nothing short of a miracle..." he trailed off, voice resigned, face pained at the fact.

Lancelot looked up at the word 'miracle' and seemed to be thinking something, but Gwaine pushed on relentlessly. He shook his head at Arthur's resignation. "What, so - you've given up on him then? That's it?" he demanded crossly.

Arthur turned back to him, scowling. " _No_ , of course not! I'm just saying - nothing we do can help! Nothing we're doing is helping - look at him! The most we've done is slow the bleeding, not even stopping it completely. We might as well call it a lost cause..." He stared down at Merlin and clamped his mouth shut at the last few words, looking like he regretted them. A resolute light seemed to spark in his eyes.

"It's not a lost cause!" Gwaine countered fiercely, glaring at him. Arthur shook his head slowly and looked him in the eyes, and the knight was almost taken aback by the slightly ashamed look there.

"No... You're right. It's not - it can't be. It just... seems hopeless," he said quietly, eyes lowering at the near-admittance of defeat.

"If it seems hopeless," Lancelot said slowly, looking at him intently. "Then why haven't you given up?"

Gwaine glanced at him, realizing where he was going. They had to get Arthur on track here, get him resolute enough to help. A resigned prince wasn't going to do much for them.

Sure enough, Arthur's eyes snapped to him fiercely, blazing in anger. "Because that would be admitting defeat! Admitting that - that Merlin's gone, beyond help; that there's no saving him. And hell will freeze ten times over before I let that happen!"

"Well said, mate," Gwaine grinned, going over to clap him on the shoulder. "Took the words right outta my mouth. Now. What do we do?"

"I think the question is... what  _can_  we do?" Lancelot muttered. Arthur turned to glare at him but he shook his head and corrected himself. "No, I meant - what are our choices? Other than what we've already done - what else is there that we might have forgotten; something to help him?"

Another silence, but this time it was contemplative.

"Arthur was right," Gwaine murmured with a grimace. "We need a miracle."

"Miracles don't happen," said Arthur, but he stopped short, hesitation filling his gaze.

"If that was true, you'd be dead fifty times over," Gwaine told him, eyebrow raised. "And let's not even get into..." he trailed off, but they all knew what he was talking about.

Arthur subconsciously touched his side where his supposed wound had been, muttering silently to himself. But then he shook himself out of his thoughts, looking at them almost stubbornly. "Miracles... mean magic. And magic..." he frowned.

"Is forbidden and dangerous and evil, yes, we get it," Gwaine completed the memorized list tetchily, rolling his eyes. "But if magic could save Merlin's life, then I hardly see how that's evil."

Lancelot leaned forward, dark eyes boring into Arthur. "Yes; if it meant saving Merlin's life... Would you go for it?"

The young prince hesitated. He started to shake his head, then stopped, frowning. Eventually, he gave a resigned shrug. "I... I don't know. Besides," he said in a firmer voice, standing straighter, more sure. "Even if... that was possible - we don't have any magic at our disposal, do we? So it's not exactly an option."

Gwaine frowned slightly as those words contradicted Arthur's earlier statement; that sorcery had been at work here, to heal his injury - but if neither of the three of them had magic, then... But then he was hit by an epiphany. He cursed softly and a slow grin spread over his face. "But if it  _was_  an option? If there was a way to do it?"

They stared at him - Arthur in confusion, Lancelot in shock, almost anxious. Gwaine didn't stop to ask why.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked, a touch of doubt creeping into his voice, as though he didn't really want to know the answer. It  _was_  bordering on treason, after all. Gwaine inwardly snorted to himself - saying the word  _magic_  in a tone that wasn't disgusted and outraged was probably even treasonous.

"I just realised where we are."

He looked puzzled. "We're in a forest... Not far off the border of what used to be Cenred's land. How does that help us?"

Gwaine shook his head, continuing almost excitedly. "No - Remember when we got away from those bandits, when you were going to get the Cup of Life? Well, we're close to it!"

"Close to what?"

"The Druids' camp!" he exclaimed. "We can go there, ask them to heal Merlin. You mentioned that they healed Sir Leon, didn't you? And the Druids are peaceful people anyway, everyone knows that. So, we can get their help; they've got to know something... A charm or something to heal him!"

Lancelot grinned at him, looking relieved. "Brilliant idea. We'll have to get there as soon as possible then, with the condition Merlin's in... Arthur?"

Arthur was staring at them with an unreadable expression on his face. "You want us to... ask the Druids to heal Merlin with their magic." He said it more as a statement than a question.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" asked Gwaine, quite rhetorically. He thought he knew anyway.

Arthur's tone was almost hesitant, his eyes betraying how tense he was at the suggestion. If it was anyone else, Gwaine would have said they were scared (but of course, the Princess didn't get  _scared_  by anything); and he understood why - understood it, mind, not agreed with it. Arthur had spent his entire life learning that magic was evil and to stay away from it. Obviously, experience had shown him not all magic was like that, but to ask him to forget all those beliefs and entrust the life of his friend to the hands of a magical being... Well, it would be a miracle if he accepted it straight away. He didn't know what they'd do, or how, and that probably scared him a lot. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"It's our only hope right now," Lancelot told Arthur quietly. "Merlin's too ill to be taken all the way to Camelot and we need to have him checked properly by someone with knowledge. If the Druids can heal him too, that's just more reason to take him."

Arthur frowned and gazed at the floor. When Gwaine was thinking he wasn't going to give an answer, he looked up and declared, "One or two of us will go to get them. We can't carry Merlin all the way. I don't want to risk it."

His knights exchanged surprised looks. That was fast.

Gwaine saw the determined expression Arthur had and knew the prince didn't want to be the one going. He frowned stubbornly – he didn't want to leave Merlin either!

"Well, I'm staying with Merlin," he proclaimed.

Lancelot looked between him and Arthur and saw they were both resolute in staying. Sighing, he volunteered. "I'll go to the Druids then. It's fine. Just tell me where their camp is."

Arthur looked grateful. Gwaine was extremely grateful. They relayed the directions to Lancelot and he nodded, taking it in.

"Ride straight through the Forest of Ascetir, it'll be faster," Arthur instructed him. "Just stay on the look out for bandits, Cenred's kingdom will be full of them now that he's gone."

"I'll be as quick as I can." Lancelot nodded to them and headed to his horse. He mounted, looked back at Merlin one last time, and then galloped off.

* * *

Arthur crouched down next to Gwaine, both watching Merlin. He'd gotten worse over the hour, muttering deliriously, moving about restlessly. They guessed it was the infection setting in more, but until Lancelot came back from his visit to the Druids (hopefully with a healer), they couldn't do anything for him except what they'd been doing for the past hour.

"How long d'you think it'll take Lance to convince a Druid to help?" Gwaine asked him quietly. His eyes didn't waver from Merlin's pained face.

Arthur grimaced. "Hopefully not too long."  _He doesn't have much time left_ , he thought after, dropping his head to rest in his hands, fingers raking through his sweaty blond hair.

"This better damn work," muttered Gwaine, trailing a stick through the dirt in front of him. "Then we can just go back to Camelot and get a few drinks to celebrate." He cheered up slightly at the thought.

Arthur regarded him in amusement. "Celebrate what, exactly?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Dunno, just thought I'd give a reason to get a drink."

"For once," the prince added under his breath.

Gwaine laughed and punched him on the shoulder. "You could use a drink right now. You are too damn morose, you know that? Bloody pessimist."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him. " _I'm_  a pessimist, now? And I thought that was Merlin."

"You're kidding? Merlin's the cheeriest bloke I've ever met!" Gwaine countered, shaking his head.

"When he's not complaining or fretting like a girl over cute fluffy animals, that is," Arthur said dryly with a touch of sarcasm.

They paused and watched as Merlin muttered incoherently again, as though sensing they were talking about him. His face scrunched up again momentarily in pain before he relaxed again and stopped moving.

"Go wash up, I'll watch over him," Arthur told Gwaine after.

Gwaine looked up and a slight grin made its way onto his face. "You trying to say that I stink? What, can't you handle a bit of grime, Princess?" he teased, but got up anyway, knowing that the prince wanted to sit with Merlin.

Arthur glared at him with a glimmer of an amused smile. "Nothing I say is going to make you stop calling me that, is it?" He shook his head resignedly.

The knight chuckled. "Nope. Unless Merlin stops calling you a prat, but I doubt that's gunna happen any time soon." Arthur muttered something under his breath about not getting his due respect from these people. Gwaine laughed and mock-bowed to him. "My apologies, Your Highness," he mocked cheekily, before going off to find the lake. Behind him, Arthur gave a reluctant chuckle.

His cheeriness was mostly forced, though, and his grin slipped off his face as he washed.

Now, if there was one thing Gwaine prided himself on (other than his devilishly good looks, of course... and downright disarming grin), it was his unwavering sense of humour. But even he was finding it damn near impossible to stay chipper and joking when his best friend was fatally injured, unconscious, and possibly on the brink -but no. He wasn't going to think that. Lancelot was going to find those Druids and get a healer here, and then Merlin will be back on his feet with that cheeky grin back in place. Thinking anything else would be giving up, like he'd told Arthur.

And Gwaine  _does not_  give up. Especially not on the life of his friend.

His too damn loyal, self-sacrificing, not-thinking-of-consequences, best mate.

Wasn't there a limit to what you can sacrifice to save a friend's life? But even if there was, Merlin wouldn't pay any attention to it. The guy bloody ran into an abandoned castle filled with wyvern because Arthur's life was in danger.

Gwaine had to stop and rethink that over. He sat back on his haunches, hair dripping wet and hand trailing in the water.  _Why did he automatically think of Merlin's mysterious injury and Arthur's healing as sacrificing?_ What  _had_  happened there? He just realised that, in between all the panicking over their friend and the thrill of some hope of healing him, they hadn't discussed – or even thought about – how exactly all this had happened.

He cast his mind back. Arthur's and Lancelot's argument… Lance obviously knew something, and Arthur suspected sorcery – what else could it be? It  _wasn't_  natural, Gwaine knew that much, but now he actually thought of it. What  _did_  Lancelot know that he was so reluctant and adamant not to share? Gwaine almost wished he hadn't cut their argument short now – they might have gotten some answers from him. He doubted it, though.

How did this start, though? Arthur was injured; they had tended to his and Merlin's wounds… And then when Merlin got up and insisted on watching over the prince himself and told him and Lance to get some rest… they'd woken to find him sporting the same wound that Arthur had had and-

Gwaine froze as it  _finally_  clicked.  _Merlin had magic_. He couldn't believe it took this long to figure it out – though to give himself some credit, he had been worried about Merlin the whole time, and that hardly gave time or space to think over the events. But it was so obvious, so  _clear_ , now. He had always known, or suspected at least, that there was something about Merlin. Something big. He always came out of battle or facing dangerous creatures unscathed, even though he wore no armor or had a bloody weapon.

He had  _magic_.

He must have somehow transferred Arthur's wound to his own body. Gwaine shook his head dazedly. Couldn't he have just healed him? Maybe it was too serious to heal…

But – damn it all. If it  _was_  that serious, did that mean the Druids wouldn't be able to heal him? Was he too far gone? The bloody self-sacrificing idiot.

Gwaine stood abruptly, scowling. This recent epiphany left him more anxious than before.  _Lancelot better get here fast_ …

* * *

**IV.**

Lancelot knew what it felt like to have someone close to you die, someone irreplaceable; to lose them forever and have to learn to live without them. He knew the pains of having loved ones torn away from you while you were helpless to save them. The hurt, the anguish… He knew first-hand how strong those emotions were.

And he never wanted to feel them again. Not if he could help it.

That was why, when Gwaine mentioned the Druids could help Merlin, he volunteered to go find them. Because he didn't want a repeat of what happened to his parents, his friends - his whole village. He didn't want to sit there, powerless to help, while Merlin's life slowly drained away. If there was a way to help him, even a mere possibility to cure him, he'd go for it. And the Druids were more than just a mere possibility; they were a near certainty.

So it was with a determined spirit that he rode out right after receiving his instructions, heading west for the Druids' camp.

_Merlin will live._ He kept the mantra in his head, spurring him on, not once slowing his pace. He rode fast, while going over in his mind the few things that had been bothering him since this whole darn thing started. His main worry – besides the constant concern of Merlin not making it – was Arthur's reaction. Yes, he had agreed to get the Druids' help, and he wasn't his father nor did he view magic in the same shrewd way Uther did, but Lancelot was still slightly dubious about his acceptance. He had a foreboding feeling that the prince might just find out about Merlin's magic during all this, and where would that leave them?

But surely, if he had already figured it out and still regarded magic as treacherous, he wouldn't have agreed to healing Merlin? Or would he? Maybe he might just have accepted it, briefly, or maybe he still was not aware of his manservant's powers. Lancelot hoped it was the latter. He wouldn't be there for Merlin if Arthur figured it out now and did something rash. Gwaine was there as well, true, but he didn't know about Merlin either.

Or did he? Lancelot hadn't missed the lingering way in which his fellow knight had eyed Merlin's wound and himself, and suspected that Gwaine knew something – recognized that he, Lancelot, knew what was going on here. But Lancelot was confident in Gwaine's loyalties and his friendship with Merlin, and felt that he could trust him if Arthur acted impulsively. He would have to; it wasn't like he had a choice anyway.

A grim smile appeared on his lips at that before he shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on things he could not do anything about, even if he wanted to. The most he could do now was find the Druids as fast as possible, and trust his friends' judgments. Merlin's life depended on it.

He urged the horse to go faster, going along at a speedy gallop now. It was just as well that Camelot's Knights got the best breed of horses, otherwise it might have collapsed under the strain.

* * *

It was nearing dusk when he sensed he was being watched. After riding hard for three hours straight with only the sound of his horse's hooves and the mind-numbing thoughts churning in his mind, his nerves were well and truly on edge. He pulled on the reins to slow down and surreptitiously glanced around, grimacing as he realised that the slowly lengthening shadows made it easier for someone to be hiding there.

A rustle of leaves from his right caught his attention and he gave up all covert pretenses as he slid off the horse, unsheathed his sword, and took up an offensive stance, all in one move. His dark eyes warily eyed the array of bushes and trees in front of him and he waved his sword threateningly in front of him.

"Show yourself," Lancelot called out cautiously.

A figure – no, two figures – stepped out of the shadows slowly, and Lancelot lowered the sword just barely as he sighted them, but not too low. The first man was older than he – in his late forties, maybe – and tall, but he stood with a firm and unwavering stance, contrary to his seemingly frail appearance. He held the knight's gaze with his own undeniably wise one, and had a head of white hair. He radiated strength and power that Lancelot presumed was his magic.

The man behind him was younger, shorter, and more secluded in appearance. He clutched a shoulder-pack almost possessively, his slim fingers tightening around it. His soft brown eyes were regarding the knight curiously, and Lancelot found his stare slightly unnerving, as though the man could see all his thoughts and fears, sense his insecurities, his worry.

And despite the suddenness of their presence, Lancelot felt immensely relieved, because he knew without a doubt who they were.

He had found the Druids.

"Sir Lancelot, I assume?" The first man asked, stepping closer once Lancelot lowered his sword completely and stuck it in the ground. He gripped his hand in welcome. "I am Iseldir, Chief Druid of our camp."

"A pleasure," Lancelot nodded, and then asked curiously, "How did you know who I am?"

The Druid gestured his companion forward with an inclination of the head. "Cathbad has foreseen your urgent arrival, although we do not know the cause of your apparent distress." He pierced the young knight once again with his perplexing gaze. "I sense something terrible has occurred."

Lancelot blinked and shook his head to focus the confusing mass of thoughts threatening to take over his brain. "Yes. It's Merlin," he confirmed, getting a sense of urgency. "He's wounded and we're afraid he does not have much time left. He – I don't know how- but-," he stuttered and clenched his jaw with another desperate shake of the head. "We need your help."

Iseldir turned to look at his companion – Cathbad – with an odd light in his eyes. Lancelot fought back the urge to grab him and jump back on the horse and head back to Merlin.  _It's been three hours…_  he thought, troubled.

"You said ' _we_  need your help'," Cathbad spoke up, his voice soft but his tone no less dominant than Iseldir's. "Who else is there?"

"Another knight, Gwaine, and Prince Arthur," he answered immediately, praying that the mention of the prince wouldn't turn them away. "Arthur agreed to get your help; he's desperate – we all are," he added imploringly.

"How did he receive his wound?" Iseldir queried. His composed tone seemed to calm Lancelot down and he took a breath before answering deliberately.

"We – we're not sure. Arthur was shot by bandits last night in the side, and Merlin… I don't know. He was watching over him during the night, I don't know what he did, but this morning Arthur was completely healed and Merlin was sporting the exact same injury he had, as if he'd taken it from him. He's lost a worrying amount of blood since then…" His voice trailed off as his eyes darkened in worry.

"You are aware of his powers, then? You do not seem panicked," Cathbad observed.

He nodded. "I have known about Merlin's magic for a few years now. But that is partly why I'm troubled – Merlin told me he isn't particularly good at healing spells, yet he accomplished something so obviously advanced. How?" He glanced between them as they exchanged a look. Maybe now he'd get an answer to the one question that had been on his mind the whole day:  _how?_

Iseldir emitted a brief sigh as his eyebrows drew together slightly. "By your description, it was not a normal healing that Emrys used. We were unsure of whether or not he possessed the gift, but it seems so." At Lancelot's bewildered look, he added, looking slightly troubled. "It seems Emrys used the power to Mirror Life and Death to heal your prince."

Lancelot's head spun. Mirror Life and Death? He wasn't entirely sure what the power was, but he could guess, and it wasn't a comforting thought. But if he had to go so far to Mirror  _life_  and  _death_ , then didn't that mean…?

"It means he believed Prince Arthur to be too far gone to be healed normally," Cathbad confirmed, finishing his thought. "Emrys has truly made the ultimate sacrifice this time."

Lancelot stared at him, not even grasping the fact that the Druid Seer had apparently read and answered his thoughts. He had a bit more pressing matters on hand. "So… Arthur was really dying," he said slowly, the pit of foreboding growing deeper in his stomach. "And Merlin – Merlin gave his life up?" He felt the forbiddance bubble into panic. Merlin couldn't actually be dying! He just  _couldn't_.

Iseldir clasped a soothing hand to his shoulder and asked quietly, "Does Prince Arthur know of Emrys's secret?"

He shook his head haltingly. "No, he- he doesn't. He suspects sorcery is at work, but I think he is too confused by the events to truly pinpoint their origin." He met the Druid's wise eyes. "But even so, he did agree to employ the use of magic to heal Merlin. I think that… if he did know now… it would not be as bad as you fear."

The Druid mused over this. "The bond between the great Emrys and the Once and Future King grows stronger than ever," he murmured with a significant look at Cathbad, who nodded solemnly.

Iseldir regarded Lancelot for another moment before nodding. "Very well. You shall receive our help. Any demise that Emrys is facing would be truly tragic for us all." Lancelot didn't stop to ask what he meant by that; he'd gathered that the fact they were referring to Merlin as 'Emrys' meant he held a highly important place with the Druids. He grabbed his sword out of the dirt with a relieved smile and turned to mount his horse again.

"Then we should ride out straight away. The camp is three hours from here."

Cathbad held his arm and shook his head. "We can travel much faster than on horseback. As you said, Merlin does not have much time left."

Lancelot was confused for a moment before he realised what he meant. He swallowed and nodded. "Right. Magic. You can transport a non-magical person, too, then?" he asked as Cathbad readjusted his bag so it hung from his shoulder without having the need to grip it. Iseldir took the reins of the horse as he answered.

"We can, but I warn you, the experience may be unpleasant and uncomfortable."

Lancelot nodded understandingly as he readied himself. He was filled with renewed vigor and hope; he just prayed that they weren't already too late.

_.:`:._

_It was painful… so painful… The air he breathed seemed to be poisoned, and every breath made his chest feel aflame. He was briefly aware of some sort of burning sensation in his otherwise numb limbs. Was he burning? Maybe that was it… It would explain the fire inside him…_

_Everything surrounding him was fuzzy and dark, unclear… Unknown. He didn't like the Unknown – it gave him a sense of foreboding… He didn't know what was there, what could happen… But even so, he felt as though this was a sort of Unknown he should not fear._

_And then… it was in a spiral of colours and noises and nauseating movement that he heard the Voice. It was a familiar sound, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was still another part of the Unknown. The Voice seemed to be addressing him but it was a blur of noise, along with everything else. He felt frustrated and wished it would either shut up or become clearer._

_Shut up… Why was that familiar? He tried to remember, but it was so confusing… so painful… he just wanted it all to stop – Stop the spinning, the mass of confusion, the array of disconcerting colours. He found himself wishing to just sink away into the Unknown, where none of this mystifying mess could follow him. But the Voice… it would not leave him alone… it was so persistent, so… obnoxious…_

_"Merlin… Merlin…? Can… hear… Merlin…"_

_It would not stop… Was he Merlin? Maybe he was supposed to give some sort of response… He wished he could tell the stubborn Voice to go away and let him sleep… Leave him in the Unknown, because now he was almost sure it was a comforting place… It had to be, didn't it…? It could get him away from the pain and the fire…_

_He had nothing to hold on to… Although the Voice would insist otherwise, as it seemed to be calling him back… Back to where? He must have been somewhere… somewhere… Before he got sucked into this heap of befuddlement and agony… And ahead, the Unknown beckoned him in, invited him warmly, so appealing and tempting… But the Voice was persistent, it called some more, loud and demanding…_

_"Merlin…! Come on…"_

_The Voice… or the Unknown…?_

* * *

**V.**

"You just wait,  _Mer_ lin. When you get up and we're back at Camelot, I'm going to have you doing more  _work_  than you've ever done before… The stables are getting  _filthy_  and let's not even get to the state my chambers are in…"

Arthur trailed off with a weary sigh. No, this definitely wasn't working.

He glared gloomily at his injured friend as he sat back cross-legged, leaning his back on a tree. He dropped his face into his hands dejectedly and shoved his fingers through his blond hair, not caring about the fact that it was dirty and sweaty and he was all-around grimy. He also ignored the slight throbbing pain from the new gash across his right knuckles.

Okay, so maybe on hindsight, punching a tree in order to try to get rid of his confusion and frustration  _wasn't_  a good idea. But the pain did provide a bit of a distraction then, from his unwanted thoughts, and he had briefly pondered over getting Gwaine or Lancelot to just knock him out then and there so he  _wouldn't_  have to bloody  _think_  about – about-

" _God dammit,_ Merlin, you just make things so  _complicated_ , don't you?" he all but growled quietly, digging his palms into his shut eyelids until he saw white spots on black. He'd felt almost disgusted at himself after that, when he realised that the pain  _Merlin_  was going through was a  _hundred_  times worse than some little gash on his hand and he had no right to be thinking of it as  _painful_  (even if that  _was_  only to distract himself). After all, he knew first-hand the searing, white-hot pain that was likely coursing through his friend's body, the splitting agony and swirling mass of plunging darkness. He'd felt it himself, for those few hours, the night before…

Before Merlin came and God-knows-what happened and it was the other man who had the wound and not him and  _ohGodwhyisthissoconfusing?_

Arthur groaned in a nearly pitiful way. He wished Lancelot would hurry up. He didn't know where Gwaine was – he'd gone off a little while ago, muttering something about needing to clear his head (Arthur took that to mean he was going to retrieve his flask of mead from the horses). It had been  _three hours_  since the former knight had ridden off, and Arthur hadn't moved from his spot by Merlin's side since then. He'd done his best to keep the younger man's fever down and when Merlin had started to mutter incomprehensively, he started talking in a low voice in some vain hope to soothe him or something.

_Three hours_. And add that to the couple of hours before, starting when Arthur had first woken up to—And they didn't know  _how long_  Merlin had been like that during the night, so all together it might well have been over five or six hours…

A deep sigh escaped his lips and he deflated slightly, lifting his head to prop his chin up on his hand instead, staring listlessly at the forest floor. No-one can survive that long after the amount of blood Merlin had lost without proper treatment, and that's not even counting the fever and any head injuries he might have. It honestly seemed like a lost cause, but Lancelot was on his way back with some Druids ( _if they agreed to help, that is_ , the nasty side of Arthur's mind whispered. He tiredly growled at it to shut the hell up) and that was the ray of hope he clung to, the last lifeline they had –  _Merlin had –_ and the only beam of optimism right now, the only  _escape_  from the plummeting darkness surrounding them…  _Like that blue orb in the cave…_

Arthur was startled at the sudden memory, and sat up in alertness, eyes widening as he saw in his mind's eye that mysterious little floating orb, all those years ago, in the cave…

" _Oy! Arthur!_ "

He jumped in surprise at the call and looked around. Gwaine was running towards him and Merlin, eyes wide with anticipation for something, and Arthur lurched to his feet, slightly unsteady as he pulled his sword out, thinking there were attackers about.

"What? What is it?" he demanded Gwaine, who he just now noticed was actually grinning madly. He pointed back and Arthur turned, spirits lifting tremendously at the sight of the dark-haired knight trailing out of the bushes with two men in tow.

_The Druids! And Lancelot! They're here!_  He thought wildly, stepping forward unevenly and re-sheathing his sword. He recognized the older Druid as the one who had given them the Cup of Life last time, but didn't recognize the other man. He didn't quite care  _who_  they were though, as long as they could heal Merlin.

"Arthur, Gwaine," Lancelot said almost breathlessly, nodding at them both and glancing anxiously over at Merlin. He gestured distractedly at the Druids. "This is Iseldir, the Chieftain of his camp, and Cathbad. I explained the situation to them."

Arthur nodded once and held Iseldir's curious, wise gaze for a few moments before stepping back to Merlin's still form. ( _Was he even breathing?_ ) "So? Can you heal him?"

Cathbad stepped closer to Merlin and knelt down, placing a cool hand on his forehead and murmuring something, his eyes glowing gold for a moment. Arthur had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from reacting, though his eyes did widen at the sight. He fought the irrational urge to get the sorcerer away from his friend – they were here to  _help_  him, for goodness' sake!

Cathbad glanced back at the older Druid and they seemed to communicate something, though Arthur wasn't sure how. But he didn't say anything, despite his rising impatience to know whether they were going to heal him or what.

Iseldir's eyebrows furrowed slightly and he also sat by Merlin's side, cocking his head to the left slightly as he surveyed him unblinkingly. Arthur held his breath as Iseldir held both hands over Merlin's body, palms down, and made a sweeping motion over his whole form, closing his eyes in concentration. Finally, his hands dropped back to his sides and his grey eyes reopened. He gazed at Merlin for a long time before glancing up and nodding imperceptibly at his companion, who frowned, his unruffled expression flickering barely.

Arthur frowned as he watched. This didn't seem good. Why weren't they healing? "What's wrong?" he asked – well, demanded, really; but to his credit, he was worried and tired and on the last of his nerves.

Iseldir looked back at the unnaturally pale face before him before replying gravely, "Merlin is hovering on the brink between life and death. We might be able to heal his physical wounds, but if he himself, in his mind and soul, has given up on fighting the injuries, if he has lost the will to come back – then there is nothing our magic can do to help him."

Arthur's heart seemed to stop beating at those dreaded words. He gaped unseeingly at the Druid, unable to form a coherent thought.

He distinctly heard Gwaine ask, his voice oddly strained and despondent, "So… he's – gone?"

It was the other Druid who answered this time, looking at the knight with those oddly intense eyes. "We did not say that."

His heart seemed to redouble in its beats now. Arthur stepped forward hopefully, staring at him. "What do we have to do?" he asked, ignoring the brief hitch in his voice from the overwhelming emotions.

Iseldir answered immediately. " _You_ , Prince Arthur, are going to get your friend back."

"What…?"

His reply was almost cryptic. "We can put you into a deep sort of sleep; send you into a form of unconsciousness similar to Merlin's. You are both bonded by the strings of destiny – without one, there cannot be the other. And you, Arthur, are the only one who can follow Merlin's soul into the depths of the pit on unknown between life and death, and only you can find him and bring him back." He stared at Arthur in the eyes, and the prince had to work not to look unnerved by the sense of power radiating from the man.

He swallowed, looked down at Merlin – at the slack, unsmiling face, the closed eyes that were not shining merrily at some joke or other – and nodded firmly. "Right. What do I do?" he asked. It briefly crossed his mind that he was allowing two  _sorcerers_  to put some sort of spell on him. Uther wouldn't be impressed, he thought wryly.

Across from him, Cathbad seemed to be stifling a smile, and Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, getting the feeling that the odd Druid could read or hear – whatever it was – his thoughts. He pushed the trivial thought aside and knelt by them when Iseldir gestured for him to do so. He glanced up briefly to see his two knights watching with wide-eyed anticipation.

"You better get him back, Princess," Gwaine told him when he caught his eye. "Who knows what kind of trouble Merlin would trip over in some unknown place by himself."

Arthur let out a short laugh and nodded at them once. He turned his gaze back to the waiting Iseldir, who had gathered some sort of little amulet from Cathbad and was placing one around Merlin's neck before handing him the other. Arthur imitated him and immediately felt the surge of magic coursing through it, and was glad he had sat down before putting it on, or he would have fallen over at the sudden light-headedness he felt for sure.

"Lie down," Iseldir instructed him. "Relax, and clear your mind. Focus only on the magic of the amulet, for that and the one on Merlin are twins, and like you, are connected in a form that allows the wearers also to connect."

Arthur nodded drowsily, eyelids drooping. He lay down, glancing sideways at his friend. "What exactly happens if I don't… don't succeed?" he found the strength to ask, but somehow the surge of panic he expected at the thought of  _not succeeding in bringing Merlin back_  didn't overcome him.

Cathbad placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "The amulet will keep your emotions at bay. As for not succeeding, then there is a risk that neither of you will make it."

"'S reassuring," Arthur mumbled. His eyelids closed and he took a breath before letting himself sink into the comforting, calming presence of the magic.  _God, that's bizarre… and all this for the bloody idiot_.

* * *

When the amulet was secured around the prince's neck and he had fallen asleep, Iseldir reached over and moved his left hand so it was touching Merlin's right.  _A physical connection has been established_. A spark of gold seemed to ignite from their linked fingers, drawing gasps from the two knights behind him, and a bright golden line travelled up both Arthur's and Merlin's arms before spreading out and encompassing their entire beings.

"The amulets have sensed their combined power and are working on that to interlink their minds," Cathbad explained softly to the knights, who moved closer and knelt by both their friends' sides.

"Where exactly  _is_  Merlin?" the more rugged of the pair asked, eyeing the glimmering border of magic around the warlock in awe.

"That is an answer we can only speculate at, Sir Gwaine," Iseldir answered. Gwaine glanced up in slight surprise – and a tad more than a little amusement – no doubt about to joke that he thought Druids knew everything. However, the question didn't leave his lips as Iseldir held up a patient hand for quiet.

He nodded at Cathbad, who held a hand over Merlin's heart and murmured, " _Gemænnunge ætþín géosceaftes þugefiehest ásécest, biþ tígunge æt brytengrúnd fram séwuldorgestealdungecnáwen."_   **(** meaning: A connection to your destiny you shall seek, to be a tie to the earth from the realms of unknown. **)**

The warlock's amulet glowed with a silvery hue, releasing an odd humming sound. Cathbad nodded once and moved to chant a similar spell over the prince, whose own amulet reacted likewise.

_A magical connection…_

Iseldir surveyed the destined pair, with magic radiating over and around both of them in powerful surges. Even  _he_  was slightly surprised by the sheer energy searing from them.

"What's happening?" Lancelot asked. His dark eyes were wide with awe. He and Gwaine felt the power as well.

"They are being bound mentally and spiritually by the strings of their destiny," Iseldir replied softly as he appraised them in calmness. "A physical and magical connection has been established already. That is the most we can do for them."

"But can't you heal his injury?" Gwaine butted in, frowning as he nodded at Merlin's darkly stained bandages. "Or are they really too serious to heal? 'Cause if they weren't, I thought he would've healed them off Arthur instead of the whole transferring thing…" he added musingly, as if speaking more to himself than them.

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to the rugged knight; one wide with shock, the other two curious.

Lancelot stuttered in surprise, "You-what—How do  _you_  know?"

Gwaine sniffed and looked at him reproachfully, though his tone was jesting. "I am smart, you know. I figured it out. By myself. The clues  _were_  all there, after all." He sounded the slightest bit proud of himself, and Iseldir sent Cathbad an amused look while Lancelot snorted and shook his head, clearly used to his fellow knights' antics.

"But yes, we can heal him," Cathbad spoke up in answer to Gwaine's previous question. "Sir Lancelot tells us that healing is not a strong point of Emrys- Merlin's magic. He has yet to learn the intricacies of healing spells." As he spoke, he gathered a couple of herbs and a potion from his pack. The knights nodded in understanding, and Cathbad started to work on Merlin's wound.

"This is now as much as is in our power to help him as we can do," Iseldir told them as he gazed at the united pair. "The rest, they must manage themselves; guided by their unified fates and bond of friendship."

There was a bit of an impressed silence.

Then Gwaine grinned, leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, and said, "So in normal words, we're entrusting Merlin's life to the Princess's supposedly strong sense of _friendship_  to him. What a relief. And here I was thinking it'll be something impossibly difficult like… I dunno, sacrificing one of us. No worries, though, this is  _easy_." He paused then turned to Lancelot, a mocking grin in place. "Just for the record – has anyone even heard Arthur admitting that they're friends before? I mean, if he has, then great, that's brilliant, makes this a whole lot easier… but damn that guy's got one hell of a pride…"

"Sometimes I think Merlin's been influencing you instead of the other way around," the other knight sighed, though he couldn't stop the chuckle escaping his lips. Gwaine cocked an eyebrow at him but otherwise smiled cheekily.

The Druids exchanged amused glances. The knight sure had an interesting way of cheering his friends up. They both needed a distraction now.

Now that all they could do was wait to see if it worked.

* * *

**VI.**

The first thing he became aware of was the odd floating sensation he felt. It wasn't even physical, that was the odd thing. It was just… as though his very  _essence_  was flying around slowly, as if through a hazy fog; but it wasn't unpleasant. It was warm and inviting and comfortable…

' _If this is the 'unknown' then I can see why Merlin wouldn't want to leave…'_

Wait…

Merlin!

That was the reason he was here, after all! He had to dig through the haze and find that idiot before he ventured too far in to… wherever. The question was – how?

' _Merlin? Come on, you moron, don't tell me you're lost in here'_  he grumbled softly… or  _thought_ , to be precise. He didn't exactly  _have_  a mouth to speak from. Or a body to move in… even though he was pretty positive that he  _was_  somehow moving. So what was he? A spirit?

God, it gave his non-existent head a migraine trying to figure that out, so he gave up on it and brought his mind – focus – on more pressing matters. How was he to go about this? The Druid – Iseldir – had spoken of his and Merlin's spirits or destinies or whatever being combined, so didn't that mean he could find the idiot in this… this confusing place? He couldn't really tell where he was – he knew it was foggy, misty, but not entirely. It was like… an unformed space. The fog was constantly shifting, moving… and it seemed to be beckoning him, pulling him in. He found himself wandering towards the irresistible pull, curiosity peaking.

But before he could go farther (or was it  _closer_?) he became aware suddenly of a … what was it? – a certain  _presence_  in the haze before him. An innocent, clumsy presence. An unnervingly wise and loyal presence. A very, very  _familiar_  presence.

And that presence was heading straight in the direction of the unwavering pull.

' _That idiot.'_

He rushed forward towards the presence, somehow knowing how to maneuver through the mist. He wasn't entirely sure what the presence  _looked_ like – if it  _had_  a distinct shape at all – but he was pulled towards it like a bee to nectar. It seemed to radiate a light, a  _power_ , that spoke of its –  _his_  – personality and strength and loyalty and goodness, and a million other things that described the idiot.

And it seemed to draw him in automatically. The presence stopped moving once he was close enough to touch, and he could have sworn he heard a faint, distinct confused whisper of his name, seemingly coming straight from the presence's core. So he reached out to grab it – him – and if he was in his body, he would have yelled in shock and jumped a mile. Because, at the touch, the haze around them thickened and drew in closer, and a rush of power and energy surged through him, golden in essence and as pure as a rain droplet.

And then he was bombarded by images, scenes, voices…  _memories_ , he realised.

' _Merlin's memories_ …'

**X**

_A vaguely familiar face, from years ago – his friend… Merlin's childhood best friend. Will. That was his name. The sorcerer. Or was he?_

_A flurry of clashing swords, screams and battle cries… two figures standing side-by-side, one with a hand raised and eyes flashing golden, a whirl of dirt rising from the ground, knocking their attackers back… His own angry accusing face – "Who did that?" – and their panicked expressions. Merlin's words floating through the air – "Whatever happens out there today… please don't think any differently of me…"._

_But a shot cross-bolt put an end to all that and his life was saved, by one who claimed to be the sorcerer who raised the dirt. "What are you going to do – kill me?" Will's pained face, his muttered words to Merlin; nothing but a boy suddenly afraid of what was to come – "Merlin… Merlin, I'm scared." And the words spoken by a long-time best friend with tears in his eyes and a slowly breaking heart – "It's going to be alright…"_

_A barrage of older memories followed that, of young boys playing around outside a small village; playful taunts escaping their lips, carefree laughter erupting from their mouths… memories of better days with a friend who would no longer be around…_

**X**

_A girl, this time. Who was she? He didn't know. Small, frightened, but also kind and warm and beautiful. "Freya…" The name drifted through the images, spoken in such a loving, caring tone, such a sad, wistful way… And then he saw her through the bars… that Druid girl? No – but… how?_

_Then – "I don't think you understand…I've never known anyone like you." A sweet voice – "Merlin? I've never known anyone like you either."_

" _Being different is nothing to be scared of…" Spoken in a way as if he knew, he was speaking from experience…_

_A chain of events – candle fires dancing around them, excited talk of a mountains and flowers and cows and lakes – ('Wait… he was planning on leaving?' And he didn't know why, but that hurt, and he couldn't help but feel relieved – albeit rather guiltily – that he hadn't) – but then it was a mass of panic._

_A large, frightful winged creature… A cursed beautiful young woman… Freya – fatally wounded, fading away... and then a crystal clear lake for her to rest for eternity…_

" _I don't want you to go…"_

**X**

_The dragonlord? Balinor? This came as a surprise. What was he, to Merlin? And then Gaius's words answered his question – "Balinor… is your father."_

_(Was it worrying he wasn't as shocked as expected? 'Merlin and his random secrets…')_

_A subdued and occupied Merlin… Replaced with a joyous one when he met the dragonlord. A barrage of emotions – expectation, joy, wistfulness, anxiety… only to be stomped on by the oncoming defeat and disappointment. "Gaius spoke highly of the dragonlords…"_

" _And you are no better than him." The crushed expectancy hit him like a wave._

_But he followed them – Balinor. Secrets revealed, pasts spoken of, bitter reminisces. "And what kind of life would you have had here?" – "We'd have been… happy."_

_Happy… Like a proper family. A complete family. A doting mother, a new-found father…_

_Only to lose him so soon to a twisted fate._

_And final words of knowledge passed on from father to son… Balinor. Dragonlord. Merlin._

_("You struck him a mortal blow"…? No, he didn't think so…)_

_Another loved one lost, another burden to add to his overwhelming secret, another loss to have to hide his grief for…_

_And he understood; finally saw the reasons why Merlin would want to go._

* * *

He was close… so, so close… but something stopped him before he reached it. He was curious, so he stopped, but half of him – the half that urged him to go closer to the incessant call – was impatient at the distraction. He was  _soclose_  to reaching them…  _seeing_  them again… Balinor and Freya and Will… they were right  _there_ -

' _Arthur…?_ '

Was that… him? But before he could comprehend anything other than that confused whisper of a thought, they connected and he was thrown into a chaotic whirlwind…  _What was that?_

He was still connected in a way to the presence that seemed so much like Arthur, yet he wasn't  _there_  with him. But he could sense him – the same headstrong, determined, loyal and sometimes arrogant prince.

' _What's he doing here?'_

' _Is he dead too?'_

And the thought threatened to suffocate him, because after all he had done, after  _sacrificing_  himself, the prat of a prince still managed to get himself killed? All those efforts… wasted, just like that?

' _But he doesn't seem dead…_ '

He was so confused. The predicament distracted him from his previous destination and now he just wanted to know what  _Arthur_  was doing here. He was dead, wasn't he? So was Arthur dead too? Did their destiny mean that if one died, so did the other? He felt panicked, then. It couldn't!

But before he could think about it any further, something  _jerked_  him and he went spiraling into an assortment of flashing images…

**X**

_His mother – Hunith… She'd be heartbroken if he died… She had sent him to Camelot to hone his skills and stay safe, not get himself killed… He missed her terribly, had not seen her for years._

_Gaius. His mentor, guardian, almost like his father. He had become a part of his life now, had been called a son by him, a prodigy, an idiot… Always there to reprimand him for his stupid actions, always there for him when he was feeling down over his magic and destiny… What would he do without him?_

_And his friends… How could he forget them? Sweet, caring Gwen, who had befriended him when the rest of Camelot launched rotten vegetables his way. Gwaine, the most easy-going and roguish knight ever, who had claimed him his only friend once and had gone along on life-threatening adventures just for the sake of it. Lancelot, his only friend who knew of his magic, the only one he could really be himself around._

_And, of course, Arthur. He was the reason for this. The prince whose life he had saved numerous times before, yet none of them ended up with a sacrifice like this. The time with the Questing Beast had come close… but he hadn't gotten the chance to sacrifice himself that time – thanks to his destiny. Destiny… The supposed bond holding them together… He, Emrys, and Arthur, the Once and Future King._

_But if he died, didn't that mean letting his destiny go?_

_Or could he truly not die until it was his written time?_

_Was he really going to just leave Arthur, when he still wasn't king and magic was yet to be restored to Albion?_

_No, he couldn't…_

* * *

When the spiraling and spinning and memories stopped, he was still in the mysterious place – the no-mans'-land between the two worlds of life and death.

And so was Merlin's presence.

There was a change there… the urge to go forth, enter the realm of the Unknown before them, had died down…

And the light of Merlin's presence was fading, with a whispering of  _'Thank you Arthur'_  following it.

He expected to feel shocked or panicked as his best friend seemed to disappear before his very self, but he found that he too was fading, and couldn't help but wonder if something went wrong and they were both dying now…

' _If this is death, then why is it so peaceful…?'_

* * *

** VII. **

He awoke groggily, feeling as though he'd woken up from a long, uncomfortable sleep. His head was pounding and his arms felt sluggish. He moved as though he was trying to get through a thick mud pool. After a couple of seconds of total disarray he became aware of the voices around him, murmuring concernedly, and he blinked hard, shaking his head, before looking around in confusion.

He was aware of Lancelot and Gwaine crouched beside him, eyeing him with varying looks of concern, worry and perplexity. He was also vaguely aware of the fact that those Druids were watching with intense eyes farther away in the clearing, but he didn't dwell on that matter. His eyes immediately swiveled to the raven-haired man still on the floor next to him.

Arthur's mouth went dry as he took in his friend's still form.  _Didn't it work? But it has to work! It can't…_  With a slightly shaking hand, he gripped Merlin's wrist and almost sagged at the sheer amount of  _relief_  that coursed through his body at the pulse that was definitely there. He felt a small smile starting to twist the corners of his mouth. "Merlin?" he said quietly, hesitantly moving his hand to rest on his friend's shoulder, staring intently at that pale face,  _willing_  him to open his eyes. He ignored the presences of his knights behind him moving closer.

"C'mon, idiot," he muttered, voice low and somewhat (though he would vehemently deny it later) shaking with relief and emotion. "Wake up already…"

There it was. A twitch of eyelids, a low sigh emitted from the barely open mouth, and then –  _then, finally –_  a shudder throughout his whole body. Arthur leaned forward subconsciously in hopefulness, unknowingly holding his breath as he prayed fervently somewhere in the back of his mind.  _Please, please wake up…_

And, like an answer to his prayers – or a miracle – those eyes twitched again and slowly,  _agonizingly slowly_ , began to inch open, revealing awake, clear blue eyes that Arthur thought –  _feared_ – he'd never see again.

Merlin's eyebrows inched together briefly as his eyes hazily slid over his immediate surrounding. He groaned slightly and then his eyes widened at the sight of the prince kneeling over him, staring at him intensely, eyes full of something close to  _relief_. Merlin stared back at his friend for a moment before speaking.

"Watching people sleep… it's a creepy habit," he mumbled, a grin stretching his lips for the first time in what felt like ages.

Arthur looked taken aback for a moment, before he burst out laughing, sitting back and shaking his head as the laughs racked through his body. He let it out of his system, let all the worries and stress of the past few…  _was it really only hours?_  … flow out.

Merlin stared at him for a moment before turning his head slowly to look at the knights, who had similar beaming grins on their faces, his eyes slightly wide. He pointed 'discretely' at the prince before saying in a stage-whisper, "I think the prat's finally cracked."

Gwaine full-out laughed and Lancelot's grin widened as he surveyed his friend fondly. Arthur – laughs now subsided – rolled his eyes at Merlin's joke, though they were still sparkling quite cheerily.

A corner of Merlin's mouth tugged upwards at their reactions. He pushed himself slightly off the ground in an attempt to sit up, but stopped suddenly as a spasm of pain shocked him and he hissed through his teeth, face scrunching up momentarily at the sharp pounding sensation in his head. Immediately, a pair of arms steadied him, grabbing him by the shoulders as someone else placed a soft object behind his back, and he felt himself being propped up on it. His eyesight went hazy for a few moments and his ears still buzzed rather irritably, but after a moment he regained his senses enough to realise that Arthur was trying to get a response out of him.

Merlin blinked a few times and tried to shake his head a little to clear it – though that clearly turned out to be a bad idea - before looking up at his friends' impossibly worried faces. He managed to mumble, words slurring slightly, "Right… sitting up equals bad."

"More like,  _moving_  equals bad," Gwaine snorted, clapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"You goddamn  _idiot_." Merlin cocked his head to the side slightly as Arthur seemed to deflate slightly with the breath he let out, running a hand raggedly over his face. Their eyes met – two pairs of blue; one darkened with the stress of anxiety and worry and nonstop thoughts of  _he'sdyinghe'sdyinghe's_ dying spinning in his head since this whole stupid thing started, the other pair with their usual humorous shine back and seemingly innocent and  _carefree_.

And then a surprised warlock found himself being pulled into a sudden tight brotherly embrace, his friend muttering about his utter  _idiocy_  almost getting him  _killed,_  and Merlin had to take a moment to remember how to hug back because his mind was a jumble of messes, and he finally realised that the  _look_  in Arthur's eyes, that new  _something_  there – Arthur must  _know_  about – about his  _magic_  and oh god what was he going to  _do_? – but then he told his mind to shut up as he pulled back; his ever-present bright grin lit up his face again, and it only widened some more as Arthur grinned back and clouted him lightly over the head, not hard enough to make the pounding increase though.

And of course Gwaine had to ruin probably the only moment when that prat of a prince would be so open and acting like a  _friend_ , to cut in with an indignant though thoroughly amused, "Oy, what, is only the Princess special enough to get a hug? I'm miffed, mate."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled as Lancelot said, "Feeling unloved, Gwaine?"

They all laughed, relieved at the utter normalcy of the banter and teasing. Merlin felt something around his neck then, and looked down at the odd pendant, a puzzled frown taking the smile's place on his face. He reached a hand up to hold it and almost gasped aloud at the flow of pure magic surging through it. It made his ears buzz and skin tingle, and he realised that the magic was coming from another source too… a source in the form of an identical pendant around Arthur's neck.

Merlin's thought process stopped as he stared at the  _magical_ artifact.

"Merlin, what are you… oh, right." Arthur's question trailed off as he seemed to remember that he was wearing the thing. He glanced down at it, but didn't seem to want to take it off. He then looked up and focused on something in the clearing, over Merlin's head, before – much to the latter's confusion – he said, "Do you need these back?"

Merlin frowned at the sound of two people walking towards them and turned slightly to see. To his immense surprise, two  _Druids_  came into his line of vision. He recognized the older one as the Chieftain of the Druid clan who had given them the Cup of Life, all those weeks ago.

But what were they doing here? And why wasn't Arthur looking surprised?

"You may keep them if you want to," the younger Druid replied, before they both turned to Merlin.

"Emrys," the Chieftain greeted him companionably, kneeling by him on the ground. "We are delighted to have you return to us."

Merlin stared at them, lips forming a silent 'oh' before his eyes swiveled to a part-sheepish, part-amused prince. He cleared his throat, managed to get out the sincere words, "I, uh… right... These- these amulets... they brought me back?" He fingered the object, curious confusion in his blue eyes.

"They merely forged a magical connection between you and Prince Arthur," the elder Druid amended. "It was up to him to find you and pull you back."

The statement did nothing to alleviate Merlin's confusion. He winced as the throbbing in his head increased, raised a hand to wearily rub his temples before dropping it, turning around to the now-silent knights – namely, Gwaine. Who didn't look one bit surprised. "Wait… You knew, too?" he asked, feeling like the last one to be in on a secret. Which made no sense, really, because it was  _his_  secret that they all seemed to be privy too now. Merlin didn't know whether he should be grateful they weren't turning on him or put out that all the trouble he'd gone to to keep the magic secret didn't seem to matter.

Gwaine shot an exasperated look skywards. "No need to sound so surprised," he told him, somewhat petulantly. He shot a mock-dark glare Lancelot's way when the other knight laughed quietly. "You lot underestimate my brilliance-"

"Sorry – who exactly are we talking about here?" Arthur interjected, smirking.

Their easy mocking nature eased something in Merlin's chest and some of his confusion cleared, letting a wave of relief crash into him.  _Arthur knew… and he didn't care_. The appreciation welling up in him was overwhelming, the lift of the heavy weight of  _that_  secret leaving him so light-headed that had he not been on the ground already, he would've fallen over.

He looked up, caught Arthur's inquisitive look, let a smile slip onto his face with the heart-felt " _Thank you_ " he directed at the prince.

Arthur looked almost embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck, shrugged casually. "Don't mention it, Merlin." He glanced up to see the Druids were still observing them. Merlin followed his slightly-unnerved gaze, almost smiled in amusement as the younger Druid looked at him and spoke in his mind –  _"It seems the Prince's pride is not an issue here anymore_."

Arthur, oblivious to the one-way exchange, addressed them earnestly. "What you did- we owe you. If it wasn't for you…" he trailed off, a flash of emotion in his eyes before he shook his head. "Thank you. You saved my friend's life," he continued solemnly.

Behind him, Merlin noticed Gwaine shoot Lancelot a wide-eyed expression of exaggerated shock, and bit back a laugh.

Iseldir spoke up, tone somber and eyes bright with wisdom. "You do not owe us anything, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin is a crucial figure within the magical community. His death would have had a devastating effect on all beings… On the contrary,  _we_  should be thanking  _you_." At Arthur's startled look, he added, "You were the only one able to return Merlin's soul from travelling too far. Few would have had the proficiency to achieve such a task. It was all down to you and, in the end, you proved to us that the future of this land may not be such a bleak one." He stood then, shared a meaningful look with his partner, before imparting his farewell with "You have our trust, Arthur. Know that the Druids will support your every decision to unite Albion; for we know that, when the time is right, you and Merlin will do as prophecy foretells."

And with that, they were gone.

A sort-of stunned silence filled the clearing, the heavy words settling in around the four young men.

It was – probably predictably – Gwaine who first broke the silence. "That was insightful," he mused in interest, eyes gleaming as he took in Arthur's almost stunned look. "What's wrong, Princess? The expectations too much for you?"

Arthur barely glanced at him. Instead, he turned his stare to an apprehensive Merlin. "Is that really what they believe? That I'll unite all of Albion, and… all of that?"

"What? Oh, um, yeah, pretty much," Merlin managed out in reply, wrapping his mind around… everything that had happened. Seeing Arthur's still quizzing look, he added vaguely, "Prophecies and all that. The Druids take them seriously." His hand dropped to his side, suddenly remembering the searing pain that had been there… when? Days ago? Just how long had he been out?

But, to his surprise, his hand fell into contact with perfectly intact skin. He stared – no blood, nothing. Now that he thought of it, there was no lingering pain at all, except for the ache in his head that had now subsided to a dull throbbing.

"The Druids healed you," Lancelot supplied from beside him.

Merlin looked up at him.  _Oh. That makes sense_. He was about to reply when Arthur interrupted him, voice tense.

"About that," the prince started slowly, eyebrows furrowed as he glared at Merlin.

Merlin mentally sighed in resigned defeat. Here came the speech…

"If you  _ever_  do something so  _stupid_  again,  _Mer_ lin, I will-"

"What? Kill me?" Merlin supplied almost wryly, though he was watching his friend carefully.

Arthur crossed his arms, eyes narrowing in worried anger. "I'm serious, Merlin. You don't get to risk your bloody  _life_  like that. You were as good as dead until the Druids came," he said tightly.

Merlin felt guilty, but he still argued. "You were injured, and I couldn't heal it properly-"

"So you get help! Not  _transfer_  the wound to yourself!"

"I'm with Arthur on this one, mate," Gwaine added seriously. "You had us worried for a while there."

Merlin almost felt like a child being reprimanded, under his friends' glares, and sighed.  _This_  wasn't exactly how he'd expected them to find out, but he figured it was better than most other circumstances. "Thank you," he said quietly, switching his gratifying gaze between them.

The corners of Arthur's lips twitched upwards, though he kept his gaze steady and firm. "Don't thank us yet,  _Mer_ lin. We're having a  _long_  talk as soon as you don't look like a sick little girl-"

"My  _head_ ," Merlin interrupted with a dramatic groan, dropping his head into his hands.

Still, he thought with a content smile as Gwaine and Lancelot laughed while Arthur undoubtedly rolled his eyes. He was lucky to have friends who  _didn't_  turn their backs on him when faced with the truth. That, really, had always been his biggest fear. Getting executed for his magic wouldn't even have been worse than handling accusations of betrayal from the people who'd come to accept him. He'd found himself a family in the kingdom; brothers in the knights and prince.

And he was  _way_  beyond just grateful for that.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> and there you have it. My most successful fic to date. *muses* now if I can only re-find that motivation I used to have for finishing chapter fics and use it now, that would be nice. Leave a comment if you liked it! Don’t critique any of the writing, though, this is like two years old and I’ve done enough of that myself :P Thanks for reading aaand I hope you enjoyed it~
> 
> *goes a-hunting for other fics that I should put up on this account*
> 
> -iz.


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